Trixie and Nancy, Girl Detectives
by Maeve of Winter
Summary: Trixie has begun an investigation, but she quickly finds out that a titian-haired fellow girl detective is working the same case. Trixie Belden/Nancy Drew.


Taking a moment to rest from relentlessly pounding on the door, fourteen-year-old Trixie fumbled around in the pitch dark supply closet, searching for the large bucket she'd spotted. Granted, she'd only seen it for a moment before the door swung shut behind her, locking her inside, but she knew she'd seen it. And—there! She managed to grasp the edge of the large bucket and clumsily turned it upside so she could use it as a makeshift chair, and then cautiously lowered herself onto it. If only her phone wasn't dead, she could have used it as a flashlight to navigate the dark interior.

"Gleeps," she hissed aloud. She'd gotten herself into some scrapes before, but this one took the cake.

With Brian, Mart, Dan away working at camps, Honey and Jim spending the summer with their cousins in England, and Diana on an extended vacation in France, Trixie had jumped at the opportunity to go off to Iowa rather than stay at home with only Bobby for company. And since her first day as a volunteer at the Des Moines Art Center, Trixie had been suspicious of the curator, a Mr. Lance Somerton. He was very particular about the various paintings and was constantly scowling and snarling at any employee he thought lingered around them for too long.

"He's so obsessed with the artwork," Trixie had complained to Uncle Andrew, with whom she was staying for the summer. "And so touchy about it. It's really stranger."

"He might just take his job very seriously," Uncle Andrew opined.

Trixie shook her head. "I can't help but think it's suspicious."

Mr. Somerton's odd behavior had led Trixie to hide out in the museum till after closing, so she would have free range of the building to investigate. Unfortunately, during her after hours wanderings, she had accidentally stumbled into a supply closet that automatically locked, which was where she was stuck now.

Just as she was about to let out another groan of despair, she paused, listening attentively. She could hear measured footsteps drawing nearer, close to the closet door.

For a split second, Trixie debated with herself—did she really want to reveal her position and risk getting into trouble? But determination quickly outweighed her reservations. She couldn't catch Mr. Somerton from inside a closet, after all.

She rose and began beating frantically on the door. "Hey!" she shouted. "Hey, open up! I got stuck in here!" Trixie ignored the prickle of embarrassment that ran through her at the acknowledgement of her own carelessness.

More footsteps, coming even closer, and then the door swung open, the yellow beam of a flashlight shining directly into Trixie's face, searing into her eyes and momentarily blinding her.

"Oh!" Trixie exclaimed, abruptly throwing her hands over her face, whirling away from the light and then tripping over the upturned bucket.

She would have fallen had it not been for a strong hand grasping her arm.

"Easy." It was a feminine voice, light and pleasant. "Sorry about the flashlight! Come here."

The guiding hand gripped her bicep carefully but firmly, pulling her out of into the hallway. Her eyes still recovering, Trixie complied with the instructions as best she could with her limited coordination.

"Thanks," she managed, lifting her hands from her eyes and blinking several times as her vision adjusted.

"No problem," the other woman said, her tone still friendly. "Do you mind if I ask what exactly you're doing here?"

Now that she could see properly, Trixie took in her rescuer. The woman was young, either in late high school or college, but the confidence about her made her seem far more sophisticated than any teenager. She was strikingly pretty, Trixie noticed right away, with a flawless fair complexion, bright blue eyes, and brilliant red-gold hair that shone in the light. The fashionable dark clothing she wore highlighted her svelte but full-figured form, and grace and composure were evident by how she held her tall frame.

Even despite her question, the woman's face remained polite and good-natured, and she waited patiently for Trixie's response.

With a blush, Trixie realized she'd been openly staring at the perfectly coiffed stranger without giving any sort of reply.

"I got locked in," she explained hastily, trying to brush the dust from the supply closet off of her clothes. "Thanks again for your help, by the way." She could only imagine what this woman must think of her after coming across such a ridiculous situation.

The woman arched an eyebrow. "The custodians would have been working for at least the first hour after the museum shut down for the afternoon, and they would have noticed you were here. Which means you must have been deliberately avoiding them. So, what are you doing here after closing?"

Trixie bristled. She had never had much patience for being expected to explain herself. "I could ask you the same question!"

The woman paused but then shrugged. "Fair enough." She extended a black-gloved hand to Trixie. "My name is Nancy Drew. I'm here to collect evidence for an investigation at the request of a client of mine."

Trixie reeled in surprise at the admission even as she automatically shook hands, her fingers brushing against the smooth leather of Nancy's glove. "Evidence? Investigation? Are you a detective?"

"An amatuer detective," Nancy explained with a smile. "I'm not old enough to have my license, but I have a knack for solving mysteries. And my father's a lawyer, so sometimes he directs clients my way. But what about you?"

Trixie blushed as it occurred to her she had made a fool out of herself in front of Nancy yet again, and she hurried to answer.

"My name is Trixie Belden," she told her. "I'm volunteering here at the museum while spending the summer in Des Moines with my uncle. I noticed some suspicious activity, and I decided to investigate. I, um—" she felt her face flush, knowing how juvenile she must look next to Nancy, who already had clients coming to her. "I'm kind of an amateur detective, too," she finished.

"Great minds think alike." Nancy held up a thumb drive. "Somerton, right?"

"Right!" Trixie was enthused to have someone believe her theories about the curator. "But how did you know?"

"The museum owners asked my to gather information on him because they had their own suspicions about his conduct. Turns out he's been forging artwork and selling off the originals to the highest bidder. It's all here." Nancy tapped the thumb drive. "Want to accompany me to the police station to hand this over? You might be able to provide some valuable information."

"I'd love to!" Trixie exclaimed, knowing she must come across as over-eager, but refusing to care. She couldn't help but be swept away by Nancy's poise and prowess. And wait until she told Honey that another detective, amatuer or not, had recruited her to help with an investigation.

* * *

"I'm famished!" Nancy declared as they walked out of the police station. She quickly checked her phone. "It's eight o'clock, and I don't have anywhere to be. Do you want to get dinner? I know just the place."

She had been stunned at how professionally Nancy had acted at the police station, with quick but thorough explanations of the situation at the museum, and also at how respectful and attentive the police had been toward her investigation. But Trixie was most amazed by Nancy's nonchalant attitude about the entire affair. Walking into a police station and handing over evidence while explaining all the case details seemed so routine to her, like it happened every day. Trixie couldn't help be not only very impressed, but also a little starstruck. And now this other detective, so smart and accomplished, wanted to go out for dinner with her? Just the idea had her heart hammering and stomach fluttering.

"I, um—sure," Trixie stammered, nearly tripping over her own feet as she followed Nancy over to her sporty blue convertible.

"Is there anyone you should call?" Nancy asked as she touched up her lipstick in the rearview mirror.

Trixie watched her as she did, entranced by her movements. The action of spreading the lipstick bullet over the lips was simple, but the smoothness of Nancy's application and the way she pressed her lips together made it look so . . . enticing, so sleek.

"You mentioned your uncle," Nancy continued. "Is he expecting you home?"

Trixie's face burned at the reminder than Nancy knew she was young enough to still have a curfew. She might have been impressed by Nancy, but it was clear that Nancy wasn't too impressed with her.

"I'm fine," she said quickly. "I actually told my uncle I was spending the night with Dot Murray, a friend of mine."

"Little white lies, huh?" Nancy asked teasingly as she started the engine. "The detective's best friend. You've always got to think on your feet when you're in our job."

"Yeah," Trixie agreed, chuckling in relief that Nancy didn't seem to seem to hold her age against her or see it as a reason to doubt her. Also, she was thrilled by the choice of words: our job. So Nancy did see her as an equal—the idea put a huge smile on Trixie's face.

She wanted to ask Nancy more questions about how she became so comfortable working with the police, how she commanded their respect and attention with the simplicity and grace that she did, without needing to fight to be heard.

But the thought slipped to the back of her mind when Nancy peeled out of the parking lot at full speed and then barely slowed the entire ride.

Nancy wasn't a bad driver, just the opposite, in fact: she controlled the car with ease and self-assurance. Her merges were fluid, her turns tight and fast, and by the time she halted the car and parked along the curb, Trixie had the distinct impression that Nancy had more than held her own in a large number of car chases.

She wanted to compliment Nancy on her driving, but was left uncommonly tongue-tied, worried that her praise might come across as naïve or ignorant; after all, Trixie herself didn't even know how to drive.

Finally, she blurted out, "Your car rides really well," and cringed over how inadequate the comment seemed.

"It's not much for undercover work," Nancy admitted as she extracted a red silk scarf from her purse and tied it in an artful style around her neck. "But I just love the feeling of the wind rushing through my hair."

Trixie grinned, happy at finding common ground with Nancy, who seemed so above her. "Me, too. It's pretty exhilarating!"

Nancy laughed and agreed, and they exited the car and walked up to the restaurant.

The brick building was set back from the sidewalk to provide space for an elaborate garden area, complete with a fountain, that was filled with tables where patrons were seated to dine outdoors. Trixie noticed that most of the diners were very well-dressed, and she couldn't help a self-conscious glance downward at her now rumpled polo shirt and khakis. Nancy's black ensemble looked trendy and sophisticated in spite of being selected for investigative work. She wore the outfit well, her red scarf providing a bold pop of color that drew the eye to her slim and well-proportioned figure. Trixie could only wish her own clothing could look as effortlessly stylish.

Still, Trixie tried to reason with herself, she hadn't known she would be going out to dinner. And if she had, she would have dressed nicer.

In an attempt to distract herself, Trixie concentrated on the beautiful garden area. It genuinely looked like something out of an old movie. Arbors and trellises were everywhere, holding both climbing flowers and tiny twinkling lights, and all sorts of elegant metal and glass ornaments gleamed in the fading sunlight, providing an artistic contrast to the various soft blooms that surrounded them.

Trixie followed Nancy through the front gate, gazing around in wonder at the various decorations. She was so preoccupied that she had to scramble to catch up with Nancy, and it was a relief when Nancy stopped to speak with the restaurant hostess.

The woman, older in years but with bright, sparkling eyes, greeted Nancy with enthusiasm in rapid-fire French, and Nancy responded in kind, exchanging kisses with her on both cheeks. The conversation took place quickly, and Trixie didn't know what was being said, but as she joined them, Nancy turned to her to make introductions.

"Trixie, this is Sabine Blondel, an old friend of my father's and mine. Sabine, this is Trixie Belden, a fellow investigator and a new friend of mine."

"How do you do?" Trixie asked politely, even as a shiver of delight zipped through her at Nancy's words. Fellow investigator. Friend. She absolutely adored both ideas.

Sabine shook her hand, giving her a smile, and then led her and Nancy over to a private table tucked away in a small alcove nearby a miniature waterfall and pond, conversing with Nancy in French all the way. Trixie could not help but be astounded at Nancy's thorough fluency in another language.

"You can speak French?" she asked, awed, when Sandrine had left after sitting them down at their table and giving them menus.

"I should hope so. I went to boarding school in France for six years," Nancy answered. "Sandrine was one of my teachers there, but now she owns this restaurant."

"That's really neat!" Trixie said sincerely, even as a self-consciousness threaded through her. Nancy was so accomplished, her life so interesting. Trixie knew she must seem extremely boring in comparison.

"Well, enough about me," Nancy said, waving a hand dismissively, as if all of her talents and travels were of no consequence. "You mentioned you were a detective, too, and you certainly seem to be alert to suspicious activity. Tell me about your cases."

"You? Want to hear about me?" Trixie was both surprised and thrilled that this older girl was interested in her. She knew she admired Nancy—but could it be that Nancy admired her as well? The very thought sent her pulse pounding through her veins

"Sure!" Nancy smiled. "I haven't met a whole lot of other women amatuer detectives, and it's nice to meet a kindred spirit. Most of my friends can get tired of me finding a mystery wherever I go."

"Mine, too!" Trixie exclaimed, glad she had found someone who could relate. "Brian and Jim are always telling me to stop being so suspicious of people, but Honey and I want to open our own detective agency someday. Oh, I should probably first tell you about how Honey and I met, and how we found Jim . . ."

Throughout their meal together, Trixie explained all about the Crabapple Farm, Sleepyside, and the Bob-Whites. She reviewed several of her cases, including stumbling across Jim the first time and then locating him again, Diana's imposter uncle, and finding the treasure of Cobbett's Island. In return, Nancy told her of some of her own adventures, including one involving a moss-covered mansion.

"You had to prove a man innocent of sabotaging a space complex by explosive oranges?" Trixie asked in disbelief, laying down her fork on her dessert plate.

"It sounds strange when you say it out loud, but it felt routine to me at the time," Nancy said with a laugh and shrug. "Solving mysteries takes you to some strange places sometimes!"

"You don't have to tell me twice," Trixie said, grinning.

"Speaking of mysteries, Trixie . . ." Nancy leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'm not only in Iowa to investigate the art museum. I'm pulling double-duty. A few friends of mine are at Wilder College, and they've reported a lot of mysterious thefts and incidents around campus."

"Another mystery?" Trixie breathed.

Possibilities flitted through her mind, sending anticipation flooding through her. Not just of solving a mystery, but of spending time with Nancy, working alongside her and learning from her. There could be no high compliment than a detective as young and with as many achievements as Nancy believing in Trixie's abilities.

"I think so," Nancy said, her eyes gleaming. "We're less than an hour away, so we could still drive up tonight and then begin our investigation tomorrow. You could crash with my friends and I, and since Bess is about your size, I'm sure she could lend you some clothes. She has so much stuff she can't even keep track out it all."

Dazzled by the request, Trixie had to fight to remind herself of her responsibilities. While she wasn't scheduled to volunteer at the museum the next day, she didn't want to deceive Uncle Andrew by galavanting off to a college when she was supposed to be somewhere else. But then again, she had already lied to him by saying she was spending the night with Dot, who was actually was in California for a glamorous summer internship. By going with Nancy, she would just be maintaining a lie, not starting a fresh one.

"I'm in," Trixie declared, unable to resist the allure of a new mystery and also flattered that Nancy trusted her enough to ask her to help.

"Fantastic," Nancy said with a grin, tossing several crisp bills on the table to cover their meal and also provide a generous tip. "Let's go, right now! I'll fill you in on the drive there. I don't have all of the details, but you need to know everything that I know—we won't be able to work together all that well if we're not on the same page. So far, I know what Frank and Joe have told me—that's Frank and Joe Hardy. If you've heard of Fenton Hardy, they're his sons."

"Fenton Hardy the private investigator?" Trixie asked as they walked to the exit, once again impressed by Nancy's connections. "And you know his family?"

"We've partnered up on many cases," Nancy told her. "I first met Frank and Joe when we were involved in the same investigation, not unlike how you and I ran into each other. So I can only hope it means that you and I will be able to work together often," she added amiably.

The response had Trixie blushing with pleasure, and she was so happy she couldn't even form an adequate reply.

After saying goodbye to Sabine, Nancy and Trixie climbed into Nancy's convertible once more. Trixie couldn't be more excited about being invited onto the case. Finally, she was getting recognition as a detective, instead of having to endure Mart's teasing or Jim's lectures. No, now she was side-by-side with Nancy Drew, fellow girl detective.

Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden, back-to-back sleuths, Trixie thought, her pulse racing as she looked at Nancy, whose long titian-blonde hair streamed out behind her, glinting beneath the streetlights as they sped down the road toward their next mystery.

It was the team-up she'd never known she wanted, but, Trixie decided, she was ecstatic that it was happening now.


End file.
